Wantneedlove
by electric violinist
Summary: Because I needed them to have sex. Who needs a plot? This is pretty darn M for me!
1. Chapter 1

**So, I needed some good old fashioned sexual tension after some pretty dull episodes. 'Inspired' by the spoilers, though nothing like what I expect the spoilers to turn out. **

**This story is called 'Fuck' in my head and on my computer, but I thought naming it that on might be a step to far.**

**Enjoy! And please review!**

Fuck!

Ste wanted to fuck.

He wanted raw, passionate, desperate fucking, where his stomach squeezed in anticipation and his whole body hummed with need. He needed that moment of abandon, where up was down and there was nothing but him and the warm body above him in all of the world. He wanted to be used like a rag doll, while being held and treasured and needed.

Doug could do the needing part. He had no problem letting Ste know how much he needed him, in words, in looks, in tears. In rash decisions to leave the country when he thought they were splitting. And there were elements of the other stuff that he could do, too. And he was lovely, and encouraging and kind. And it wasn't his fault he wasn't stronger than Ste.

Besides, it was ridiculous of Ste to want someone stronger than him. That hadn't exactly been a pro for his previous relationship. In many ways it had been a massive con.

Outside of the bedroom anyway.

And as if relationship was a sensible term for that … whatever it was … series of sexual and violent encounters.

Doug would never actually hurt him, which put him a long way in front of Brendan on the list suitable for partners.

Right now, the man he'd decided he was in love with was getting dressed hurriedly. Chinos, shirt. Thinking about it, the dress code for their business was a lot like what Doug wore anyway.

"Ste, are you sure you don't mind?" Doug asked. Unfortunately he wasn't talking about fucking; He was talking about abandon Ste alone at the deli all day while he did something Ste hadn't really listened to, but was something to do with Texas and Dodger.

"Course," Ste insisted, "it's fine, I don't mind."

"I mean, do you want me to open up before I go, or…"

"Don't be silly," Ste interrupted, "you'll be late. It's fine. I do know what I'm doing, you know."

"I know," Doug said, indulgently, "I just feel bad…"

He let the sentence trail off. Doug may have reasons to feel bad, but this wasn't one of them.

"Go!" Ste said, smiling, "you're just getting in the way now, anyway."

Doug smiled, and left, dallying a couple of times to give extra but completely unnecessary instructions. It was Ste's business too; after all, it's not like he didn't know what to do.

Ste got himself washed and dressed, before making the short walk to the deli, still feeling that urge to fuck. It just wouldn't leave him alone. But then, that feeling had barely left him alone for the best part of a year now. He'd kept it at bay; it hadn't been that hard. What Doug was offering was real, and meaningful. The kids loved him, Amy loved him, Ste loved him, and he loved them all. Ste could imagine waking up beside Doug every morning for the rest of his life, opening the deli, playing with Leah and Lucas, holding hands in the park. So what if he didn't make Ste giddy with need, or make his hormones go crazy? Ste had lived without that for more than twenty years. And it's not like they never slept together.

And nothing else was on the table now anyway. Brendan had made that clear.

Ste arrived at the deli, opened it, and surveyed his empire, smiling. This was what life was meant to be about. Being your own boss, having a partner who loved and cherished you, kindness, family. Snatched gropes behind closed doors were nothing to all of that. No throbbing, no clothe-ripping, no strong hands pushing him to the edge could ever live up to that.

He made his way to the kitchen, trying to get the thought of those hands out of his head. They were very distracting – the image of those hands on his wrists, on his face, on his thighs, on his...

He was about to unlock the store room when the door to the deli opened. He panicked at being caught in such a day dream, and dropped the keys in his hand. He bounded to the front.

"Hey, can't you read the sign, we don't open for…"

His stroppy protest was met by an infuriatingly amused smirk.

"I didn't think you'd mind, Steven," Brendan greeted, "good morning by the way."

Ste folded his arms, working quite hard not to look at Brendan's hands.

"How d'you figure that one out?" he asked, sassily. Obviously he minded most things Brendan did more than he minded the rest of the human race.

"Well, it's what most people say in the morning…" Brendan teased.

"I mean... Oh, you know what I mean!" Ste replied, making Brendan smile again at his frustration.

"I'm planning a little something at the club tonight, needed some catering doing," he put his head casually to one side, "interested?"

That was a complicated question, "How many?" he asked. It was just him after all.

"Not many."

Ste rolled his eyes, "Any chance of being more specific?" he asked.

Brendan shrugged, "About a dozen?"

"And what time?"

"Tenish?" he said.

Ste glared, "Is this even real, Brendan, or are you just winding me up?"

Brendan snorted, "You think I'd make up an event just to wind you up?"

Ste folded his arms.

"Of course it's real, Steven. It's Joel's birthday."

Ste let his arms drop. "Oh."

Brendan looked a little triumphant. "Yeah."

"And you thought today was the best amount of notice you could give us?" Ste sassed.

Brendan shrugged.

"Well, why don't you come back when you know what you want, yeah?" Ste said, annoyed. This didn't feel like a real order. It didn't feel like a real conversation.

"Have you heard the saying, 'the customer is always right, Steven?'" Brendan mocked.

"Have you heard the phrase 'opening hours', Brendan?" Ste countered, "Why don't you try listening to 'em?"

And he marched back into the kitchen. He didn't have much faith in Brendan making large orders, not when he regularly 'forgot' to pay for sandwiches. Now where did he put those keys? He heard Brendan turn to leave as he searched the floor of the kitchen, then had an annoying thought.

He checked behind the dishwasher.

Sure enough, there they were. They must have landed on the top then slid off when he was dealing with Brendan. They'd got trapped there before. It had taken them ages to get them out. Eventually Ste and Doug had had to move the bloody thing out so they could grab them. Something Doug couldn't help him with right now from wherever he was with Texas.

He needed to open in half an hour.

"Brendan!" he called, just as he heard the door open, annoyed that he even had to admit he needed help from that man. "Could you … give me a hand with something?"

The word hand had been a mistake. The image of them holding his thighs apart slid unbidden through his head.

Brendan poked a curious head into the kitchen. "What seems to be the problem?"

Ste breathed deep, "Can you help me move the dishwasher?"

Brendan looked at him like he was mad. "Why?"

"My keys fell down the back."

Brendan smirked, "Isn't this the sort of thing that Douglas is for?" he said, tauntingly.

Ste bristled at Brendan's tone, "Yes, I'd much rather ask Doug for anything than you, but he ain't here, so are you gonna help me or not?"

"That how you usually ask for help, is it?" Brendan sneered, annoyingly making no move to get closer.

"Please," said Ste through gritted teeth.

Brendan stepped forward and surveyed the dishwasher. Ste breathed with relief, and started to explain. "So, it took the two of us together last time, we just put both our hands at the back and tugged and it…"

Brendan put a hand of each side of the dishwasher and pulled it away from the wall. Ste never finished the sentence.

"Er… thanks," he said instead, as Brendan slipped behind the machine to reach the keys. "Er… could you…?"

Brendan slid the machine back, then stood up straight, brushing off his jacket with those strong, strong hands.

Ste found himself staring at them, their strength so alluring. He wished he'd been thinking less about fucking recently.

"Thanks," he said again, and went to take the keys.

Which Brendan moved out of his reach. Ste scowled at him, and Brendan looked triumphant.

"So, it took you and Dougie boy together to move that did it?"

So they were back to teasing Doug in his absence, were they? Well it wasn't going to work. Doug wasn't Noah – what he and Ste shared was real, however Ste felt about Brendan.

"Whatever," he said, and went for the keys again. Brendan kept them out of his reach, and put a hand on Ste's chest to keep them apart.

"Well, that can't be very satisfying," Brendan leered, cryptically.

"What?" Ste demanded, annoyed at the childish game.

"I know what you're like, Steven," Brendan replied, quietly, "I know what you like."

"Give over," Ste interrupted, trying to dart round Brendan to reach the keys. Brendan didn't fall for it; instead he caught Ste's hand, and pushed him back against the wall.

"I remember practically throwing you on to the nearest surface, and you still begging for more."

Images, more and more of them, were flying round Ste's head. Not good.

"Brendan…" Ste started.

Brendan was unmoved; he slipped the keys into his pocket and continued: "And then holding you there. You loved that, the resistance against your wrists as you wriggled and writhed and begged me to fuck you."

"Brendan!" Ste managed to scold through his fog of memories and flush of embarrassment. His heart rate building and his breathing unsteady, he put a hand on Brendan's chest to push him away, but Brendan simply took that hand too.

"What, am I getting too close?" Brendan growled, "Are you feeling uncomfortable?" He pressed Ste's hands against the wall. "Maybe that's what you need, Steven," he whispered, "for me to take the choice away. So you can get what you want but not deal with the guilt?"

Oh, God, that was so very wrong, on so many levels. As wrong as Ste still wanting Brendan despite the beatings and the abandonment and the secrecy and the betrayal. But if Brendan just kissed him, while he couldn't run or escape or say no, then he couldn't be blamed. He wouldn't have betrayed Doug.

Brendan's face got closer. Ste felt his lips open. The pressure on his wrists increased.

Then Brendan stepped away. The hands were gone, Ste was worked up over nothing, and Brendan was walking away.

"You don't get that, Steven. You don't get to pretend that I'm the big bad wolf." He turned, sadly, and walked back out into the shop.

Which pissed off Ste, spectacularly.

"Oi!" he shouted after the retreating form, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving," Brendan replied, "listening to your opening hours, or whatever."

"Hey, you can't just do that!"

"Do what?" Brendan asked, nearly at the door as Ste tore after him, anger coursing through him.

"Have you got any idea what it's like when you do stuff like that?"

"Have you got any idea what it's like watching you kissing Douglas? Watching you make a home with a man, no a child who is so weasely…"

"Doug is twice the man you are!" Ste shouted angrily.

"To watch you fall in love with someone else right under my noise!" Brendan shouted back.

Ste wasn't going to fall for that, "Don't make out you love me! I ain't gonna fall for it again!"

"Fall for it?!" Brendan cried.

"I'm never gonna fall for your lies again!"

"Oh, that's rich, isn't it? From Mr sign-over-the-deli-and-we'll-get-back-together!"

Ste flushed red, "You just wanted to control me again!"

"By buying you your own business?!"

"By owning my business!"

"Jesus, Steven, stop behaving like a little girl!"

That was a step too far. Ste punched him.

He didn't hit his target, and it was the only excuse Brendan needed to really grab him, and throw him back, that look in his eye that Ste had dreaded so often. Ste hit the shelves where Brendan pinned him with his body and his gaze. He flinched from the fist that never came.

"Temper, temper," Brendan teased. "Is it somehow not as bad when you try to hit me?"

"Fuck off!" Ste shouted.

"No," replied Brendan, simply. "I think you want me like this, Steven."

"No!" Ste insisted, still shouting.

"Yeah, so this whole thing wasn't about provoking me to something? I mean, you called me back, twice in fact, you started shouting, you started using your fists!"

"Get off!" He struggled under Brendan's grip.

"You really want me to?" Brendan growled.

Ste didn't answer. He didn't know if he wanted to fuck or fight, but neither of them involved Brendan leaving.

"Didn't think so," Brendan growled, and ground his lips against Ste's.

Ste knew he should be angry. He knew he should push Brendan off and throw him out of the deli. He definitely shouldn't start kissing back. And he definitely shouldn't deepen it.

He found himself halfway in between. His arms were wriggling to be free of Brendan's grip, but his lips were clinging on. And the feeling of those hands, holding him, pressing him against the wood in at his back, was beginning to drive him crazy.

Just as he was getting into it, Brendan pulled away.

"Want me to stop?" he whispered hoarsely, though Ste was pretty sure Brendan was as far gone as him, and stopping would have been pretty impossible now.

"No," Ste whispered back, and wasted no time bringing their lips together. Brendan met his tongue with his own, and pushed Ste further up onto the ledger.

God, Brendan was lifting Ste up, like he weighed nothing. He shoved Ste's legs apart and got himself in between them without once breaking the kiss. He let go of Ste's arms, and moved his grip to Ste's thighs. Ste threw his arms around Brendan's neck, and suddenly he was moving, out of the main shop, back to the kitchen, where Ste felt his back hit a surface. Brendan's hands worked on Ste's fly, tugging them open, as Ste's reached for Brendan's shirt. He was shaking and impatient, and he felt some of the small plastic buttons fly under his fingers. He couldn't care as his hands met Brendan's beautiful chest. It oozed masculinity, and Ste had to admit to missing it. Doug's did not measure up.

Shit, he shouldn't have thought of Doug right now. He pulled back from the kiss, but his hands had a mind of their own. They wanted to touch, to feel, to memorise the form before him. His lips urged to join them, but Brendan had never been one to let him have his own way, even in bed. He pushed Ste flat down on the surface, his hands grabbing Ste's again, pushing them above his head, and bringing their groins together, eliciting groans from them both. Ste shuddered under the sensations, the intensity of them, as he felt both his wrists pushed and held together by one strong hand. God he loved this, to feel that strength above him, that intensity, that passion, the resistance on his wrists. His shirt was shoved upwards and Brendan explored his chest, his stomach, his hips, pulling down his underwear. This was so wrong, but oh so amazing.

Brendan flipped him over, bent him at the hips. Ste hummed with anticipation, as Brendan pulled out his wallet, and swore loudly.

"What?" asked Ste, between panting breaths.

"I've haven't got a fucking Johnny."

"Oh," Ste replied, in the process of being crushed by disappointment.

"Have you?" Brendan asked,

"No," Ste replied, but without checking. It was the reality check he needed. He slid out from between Brendan and the surface, pulling up his pants and trousers on the way. "Oh God," he muttered under his breath.

Brendan was rubbing his face in frustration.

"This doesn't change what just happened," the older man insisted.

Ste didn't answer. He was staring at the floor disgusted with himself. He was as hard as a rock.

"You still wanted to! You still wanted me!" Brendan cried.

What did that mean? "What, was this some petty victory to you? Proven to yourself you can still get to me? You already did that, remember."

"Don't be thick!" Brendan nearly shouted, "You still want me! Because you still love me!"

Of course he still loved him, what sort of a statement was that? "Yeah," he whispered, almost sick with shame.

"More than him?" Brendan asked, just a little shake in his voice giving away how important that question was to him, how essential the answer would be.

But Ste didn't answer. He couldn't. How could he love this volatile mess of aggression more than the kind man who had believed in him when no one else would, who had helped him make something of himself, who had given him the confidence back that Brendan had knocked out of him. It would be stupid, wouldn't it?

Brendan almost growled at the lack of response. He threw his shirt closed.

"I'll get you there, Steven," he hissed, "I'll get you there if it kills me!"

And he stormed from the kitchen, from the shop, his shirt still undone, his obvious erection pressing against his trousers, and Ste nearly wept from the loss.

He had to get on. This was a stupid waste of time. It's not like Brendan had even tried to change. There was no going back there.

He brushed down his clothes, checked his hair, wiped his face, and restarted the day. Time to open the storeroom. That Brendan had just run off with the keys for.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**One or two people requested a second part, and as fanfiction has been relatively quiet recently (prob because we're all so excited about potential cookingy goodness) but I thought I'd upload this. **

**If you're nice with your reviews, I will do a third part. **

**Well I probably ****will ****do a third part, but if I'm feeling appreciated I will be quicker.**

**Enjoy!**

"Fuck!"

Brendan stormed out of the shop and up the stairs towards his place, feeling ready to burst with frustration and need. People scurried out of his way, but he barely spared them a glance. He was ready to rip limb from torso, destroy anything he could get his furious hands on, but with an erection to humiliate him. He wondered how many of the scurrying people noticed that. He growled at the thought and stormed into his flat.

"Is that you love?" Cheryl called from the kitchen, and Brendan groaned. He loved his sister, but she always managed to be there at the most inconvenient times.

"Nope, it's the Tooth Fairy, who do you think it is?" he found himself snarling.

Cheryl didn't seem to notice the acid in his voice, "So, did you get the food sorted for Joel's thing?"

Brendan swore again. He didn't know if he'd sorted the food. Steven had well and truly distracted him.

"Oh, love," chirped Cheryl, as she finally came into the living area, and appraising him with her head to one side, "I'm all for if you've got it, flaunt it, but I think there is a limit before it gets indecent, yeah?"

"What are you on about?" Brendan replied, irritated.

"Your shirt, babe, I can see everything," she grinned, happily. "Seriously," she went to do up some buttons, then realised they were gone just as Brendan realised he needed to push her hands away. Her grin changed to a frown, "Er… What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing," he grumbled, unable to keep the genuine disappointment from his tone.

"Nothing?" she repeated, clearly unable to keep that stupid grin from her face, "does nothing have a name?"

"Cut it out, sis," he growled.

"Cut what out?" she asked, still obviously kind of delighted, "you tell me how that happened, and I promise to shut up about it."

"Nothing happened," Brendan mumbled.

"A likely story," she grinned, "you go out to order food and you get back wi… Oh em gee, was it Ste?"

Brendan groaned in frustration. At least she was limiting his erection.

"It was, wasn't it?" her face changed again, "but what about Doug? And it was sexy wasn't it? You didn't hit him did you?"

Why did everyone assume only he could be in the wrong? Not, 'did you have a fight?' Straight for 'did you hit Steven?' Okay, maybe he knew the answer to that.

"I did not hit him," Brendan growled.

"Then what happened?" Cheryl asked, wide eyed.

"Noth…" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Cheryl raised her eyebrows at him, as she opened the door.

"Oh hiya, love," she greeted, in a tone that sounded somehow both suspicious and knowing. It had to be Steven. "Come in, he's right here."

She stood back and allowed a frowning Steven to step cautiously into the flat. Great, now he was gonna bitch that Brendan had told her, when he hadn't. What was he even doing here? He'd turned Brendan down. He'd done worse – he'd behaved like sleeping with Brendan was something he would have regretted forever, like it would have been a huge mistake. No one was allowed to change their mind that many times in one morning.

"I'll leave you to it," Cheryl leered, winking at Brendan as she swayed her way up the stairs towards her bedroom, "don't you worry about, you won't hear a peep from me."

Even when she was out of sight Steven hesitated, but Brendan knew what he needed.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Steven," he growled, "I can hardly fail to find a condom here."

Steven flushed, and managed an "Er…"

Brendan wasn't going to let him get some pathetic denial in. "Or have you finally decided to be honest with yourself?"

"No!" Steven protested, but Brendan wasn't falling for it. He smirked at the flustered looking boy.

"You walked off with the keys!" said Steven, sassily. He'd been getting sassier recently. Brendan kind of liked it.

But oh fuck. That statement kind of took the wind out of his sails. He put his hand in his pocket to check it was true. It was. Fuck.

He pulled out the keys and dangled them in the air between him and Steven. "So I did," he said thoughtfully.

Steven put out a hand to take them, but Brendan was not letting it go that easily, and pulled his hand just out of Steven's reach. "What's wrong with the phone, Steven?"

"What?" stropped the boy.

"The telephone," Brendan clarified, "You didn't have to come up here."

"I thought this would be quicker, though," Steven replied, mouth pouty.

Brendan couldn't help the surge of fondness at the sight of that mouth. Not just because he knew how talented and sinful that very mouth could be, either. There'd been an element of game playing to their relationship since Steven had brought that gap-toothed idiot of a gym bunny between them, and Brendan kind of missed the days when Steven would just sulk when he didn't get his own way. He was easily distracted from sulks. These 'I don't want to want you' games were tiring, and ultimately getting in the way of what would inevitably be amazing sex. And it had never failed to be amazing with Steven. Even the boy's first time with a man had got under Brendan's skin and made him crave the touch, the taste, the need, the begging, the…

This was not helping the erection problem. Or the fact that he needed to win this round.

"We never came to an agreement on this catering," Brendan tried, still holding the key out of Steven's reach. This conversation wasn't going to finish until Brendan was good and ready.

Steven actually rolled his eyes. Brendan did not like that part of the attitude Steven had discovered.

"You were gonna be more definite, remember? Numbers? Times?"

Brendan almost sneered. He had no idea how many friends Joel had, but it was probably just him, Cheryl and Theresa. O God, did Theresa mean the rest of the bloody McQueens too? How many of them were there? They seemed to be sprouting new ones randomly about the place too. Mcqueens under 5? Did they count? And what about Ash and Walker and other people who worked at the club? Joel did a good line in making people not like him. That was something he had in common with Brendan.

"Ten," he said. He'd basically picked the number out of the air, but suspected it was an overestimate. But he had no problem eating Steven's food the next day.

"Right," Steven replied, "and is it like a buffet or a sit down or what?"

Brendan breathed out and shrugged. He didn't really care.

"Well, are you having it here or in the club?" Steven asked, impatiently.

"Club," Brendan answered. It was 50/50 that had been what Cheryl had said, and the club was the least annoying for him.

"Right, so probably a buffet, then."

"Yeah," Brendan replied, after all Steven was the one who knew about food and stuff.

"At about, what, eight o'clock?"

He was growing was Steven. Brendan could see it – his new found confidence, his faith in his own knowledge. It was beautiful. "Sure," he said.

"So, I'll get back to you with an estimate when I've checked out what we've got in. You ain't given us time to order owt."

Brendan smiled, "That's grand, Steven."

"Yeah, well, you can say that when you've seen it. It might just be today's left over paninis at this rate." And Steven actually laughed. Steven was having a bit of a joke with him. Brendan could barely remember the last time that had happened.

He wanted to run a hand through Steven's hair, to push his fringe aside like he used to. He kind of loved Steven's new, more grown up style, but it felt sort of wrong to touch it now it was so carefully gelled.

And Steven would probably bitch about that too.

But they had a new connection now, didn't they? Fathers without their kids. Miles from the people they lived for. Brendan wasn't sure if he was just using that when he asked;

"How are you doing, Steven?"

Steven frowned. "I'm fine," he said, probably more defensively than someone who really was fine would react.

Brendan nodded, "Heard from Amy?" he asked.

Steven watched him for a moment before answering, like he was checking the question wasn't an insult in disguise.

"Yeah," he said, quietly, then more loudly, "yeah, she's settling in fine. She's got Leah starting at a new school and Lucas is joining the nursery there too, just for afternoons, like." He was getting into it now. "And Amy's starting her course in a couple of weeks. She got in even though she applied late. She's dead clever."

Brendan felt that strange stab of jealousy he got when Steven talked about Amy. He wished the boy adored him like that. Once upon a time he had. Once upon a time, Steven would have done anything for Brendan.

"You miss them, though," he said, wanting to pull the talk away from Amy, back to the kids.

"Course," Steven said, almost angrily, like Brendan had suggested it was something to be ashamed of.

"Even though you know it's the best thing for them and for you, you still wish it had never happened like that."

Steven's eyes got brighter, and he blinked a few times. Brendan had brought tears to them. He felt suddenly guilty, he hadn't really intended to, but he had a feeling Steven had been bottling all this up. He'd seen the Yankee's parents hanging around, and had heard about the stupid wedding stuff. Steven's new 'perfect' lover had failed him in the exact same way that Brendan had, and it had followed Amy's departure so quickly there was no way Steven was OK with it all.

And seeing Steven sad broke his heart almost more than seeing him with the idiot Doug.

"You know…" Brendan said, worrying about every word, "if you need to talk to someone…"

Steven snorted. "What? I should talk to you?"

"Well…"

But scorn was filling Steven's tone, "Yeah, because you're such a decent, kind, understanding bloke, right?"

Brendan had to work quite hard to keep the small smile from his face, "And if you just wanna shout at me, that's fine too."

"I can't believe you sometimes!"

"What?"

"You!" shouted Steven, shoving Brendan's chest, "you didn't get what you wanted by jumping on me, so now you try to pretend to be nice!"

Brendan grunted. There might be a small amount of truth in that. "I hardly jumped on ye," he mumbled.

"As good as," stropped Steven.

"And I wasn't exactly far off getting what I wanted, was I Steven?" Brendan purred, "Or should I say _we_ wanted…"

Now Steven seemed to be forcing his eyes to stick to the floor. He was back in denial. Brendan supposed he should have expected that, after what had happened down in the shop. This was how Steven behaved when he thought twice about what he wanted. He was probably trying to convince himself that it had all been Brendan's fault. Or maybe he was just fixating on his own whirlpool of self-hatred. He was always so quick to point out Brendan's self-hatred but he never acknowledged his own.

Brendan took pity. It wasn't like it would be his last chance to speak to the boy today. He would had a perfectly formed excuse in a number of hours.

"So, I'll pop over, around 7, check it's all fine, yeah?"

Steven looked surprised. He'd obviously been expecting another fight. Or maybe another encounter of the other kind. Brendan tossed the keys into the air and wandered off before Steven caught them. Steven didn't do anything for a moment, then hesitantly turned and left.

How long was this going to last? How long was he going to make Brendan wait? It couldn't be forever, could it? There was no way he could keep denying everything forever? Steven couldn't live in the same village as Brendan and never cave, could he?

His leg was quivering. Nerves, sexual frustration, he wasn't sure. He looked at his watch. There were hours before he could turn up at the deli.

Fuck!


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews. I think they were plentiful and nice enough for you guys to have earned this:**

**Enjoy. And don't forget to keep reviewing!**

For Ste, it was a long day. As he made sandwiches and dealt with customers, he rummaged around for good party food for Brendan's thing. No, Joel's thing. It was nothing to do with Brendan, Brendan was just…

Well, obviously Brendan was paying for it. Hopefully. At least he didn't imagine Joel would suddenly have the money. And Brendan had been the one to ask. But no, he wasn't doing this because Brendan asked. He was doing this because someone had hired the business; it had nothing to do with Brendan.

Maybe this was that denial thing people talked about.

By the time the last customer was out the door, Ste had gathered enough ingredients to make a decent show of competence. He needed to show how good he could be at this. He needed to show Brendan that he was clever and talented.

No, not Brendan. This wasn't about Brendan. This was about showing _everyone_ that he was a strong, talented business man, and showing them that they should to hire Carter and Hay. It was business.

He was just about to lock the door when it opened from the outside. He shook his head at the sight of Brendan walk in casually.

"Opening hours, Brendan!" he said, but smiled in spite of herself.

"I thought you might want a hand," Brendan replied, quietly, seductively. It was a warning. Ste should say no, he didn't need help, obviously; he was an independent business man. And seriously, Brendan, who couldn't make a stew, actually wanted to help prepare party food? Ste should send him packing.

"Sure," said Ste.

Stupid body, ignoring brain.

Brendan closed the door quietly, and turned the inner lock. There had been times when that would have terrified Ste, but right now it sent a little thrill through his body.

"So," Said Brendan, pulling his jacket off, revealing his rolled up sleeves and strong muscular arms. Ste's lips were suddenly very dry. "Where do you want me?"

It took Ste far too long to register the question. "Er… you could chop up the mushrooms for the er…"

Brendan turned and bent to lay his jacket carefully on the seat by the door. God his arse was amazing.

"For the… er… vol au vents."

Brendan stood straight again and nodded, hands in pockets, stepping closer to Ste. "I can do that."

Ste stared at him, trying to anticipate his next move. Brendan could be so unpredictable. Maybe he'd push Ste back until they hit the counter then take control of his mouth and body. Or maybe he'd kiss him softly, gently, tease the groans from Ste's lips.

Brendan tipped his head to one side, "So," he said in a voice like velvet, "you gonna show me where the knives are?"

Ste probably turned a vivid shade of red.

"Course," he said, and turned as quickly as he could to get a moment's reprieve, knowing he would have to spend a whole evening alone in a small room with Brendan Brady.

He got out everything Brendan needed, and showed him what he wanted, then got on with something else, going straight for what he thought would be the most complicated, would need his greatest attention. It lasted a small amount of time before he the temptation to look at Brendan got the better of him.

He glanced quickly, slyly. He didn't want to be caught looking. Of course he was. Brendan had finished the mushrooms, though they looked a proper mess, and now he was watching Ste, intently.

Ste kept on with his own tasks for another minute before he had the nerve to say anything. He planned a few conversations in his head, should he comment on the mushrooms, or just thank him, or should he pretend not to notice Brendan again until he chose to speak? He wasn't sure if there was a right answer.

He pretended to spot Brendan's mushrooms.

"Oh, you've finished, you should have said," he began. Brendan's moustache twitched, and Ste wondered if he'd found this reaction funny. He gave Brendan another task that didn't take much skill, without hoping for much in the way of presentation. Maybe he should just send him away. It would not help the look of the business in the long run if the food liked a six year old had played with it.

He changed his mind; how many people would there actually be at Joel's birthday anyway? Probably just Brendan, Cheryl and Theresa. If he knew Brendan at all, he'd plucked the number ten out of the air. This wasn't building the business. Ste would just take the money and forget about it.

But that still didn't explain why he was letting Brendan help.

And help was completely the wrong word.

"What are you doing?" he cried, eyes wide open at the sight of the mangled salmon he'd asked Brendan to slice. It now looked like a mass of pinky-orange mess. "Slice, I said, not mash!" He pushed Brendan away and stared aghast at the ruined fish, searching his brain for anything he could do to save it.

"That not what you wanted, Steven?"

"What do you think?!"

Brendan failed to look anywhere near as apologetic or guilty as he bloody well should.

Ste breathed deeply, "Right, well, how about you start on the sponge cakes – just follow that recipe, yeah? And don't do anything different!"

Brendan looked at the page. "Right."

Ste managed to get a lot done while Brendan was mixing together flour and sugar. He'd got a lot of stuff in the oven, and he began to believe that this might not be such a problem after all.

He was working hard not to look at Brendan, but he could feel his presence. It was like every part of him was alert and sensitive, and what he was doing became extra important because he knew Brendan was watching.

Eventually he had to check.

Brendan seemed to have sprinkled sugar, flour and butter upon every surface within a metre of himself.

"Brendan!" Ste shouted, "what the…?" He stopped, and rolled his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be, like, preparing the club or something?" he suggested, only slightly more calmly.

Brendan looked at him sadly. "Cheryl's on it."

Ste sighed, "Course she is. Just step away from the food, yeah?"

Brendan leant against the counter and watched as Ste got on with more of the stuff he needed to do. Ste wasn't sure if he minded.

"You're a talented wee fella, ain't ye Steven," Brendan said, suddenly.

Ste turned to stare at him.

"What?" Brendan asked.

"Are you trying to get out of paying?" Ste asked, "'cause it won't work."

"What are you on about?" Brendan repeated, frowning.

"You never say stuff like that."

"Don't I?"

"No," said Ste, with certainly.

Brendan tensed his mouth, "Maybe not where you can hear them."

Ste snorted. As if. That was one of the major differences between Doug and Brendan. Doug thought he was talented, had potential, could run his own business. Brendan thought he was a worthless nobody, fit only for clearing glasses and secret shags where no one could see. What had he called him that time? A 'bottle-washer'? Ste knew when someone was trying to butter him up. Brendan was going to pay and in cash if he wanted this food, and Ste was going to fold. He went back to the pastry he'd been working on.

"It's beautiful," Brendan mumbled.

It was so quiet, Ste almost doubted his own ears. He had to laugh.

"What? Pastry?"

Brendan looked a bit surprised that he'd spoken aloud, but recovered quickly, obviously deciding denial would be pointless. "No, not the pastry," he said, confidently but quietly. "You. Working. It's beautiful."

Ste stopped and stared at him again, blushing. He should know better than to fall for this; Brendan did a good line in saying things Ste wanted to hear to get his own way. But that was an odd one.

"Yeah, you're still paying for it!"

Brendan laughed gently, "Of course," he said.

Ste carried on working. Brendan carried on watching. Ste was doing OK, even with the distraction.

"Why don't you believe me?"

The question surprised Ste, who thought the conversation had finished. "Why don't I believe you when you say things like I'm talented or …" he couldn't even say beautiful. That one was just crazy. He busied himself with the food.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I know what you're like Brendan," he said, still not looking up, "You lie, you steal, and you make stuff up to get me to sleep with you."

Brendan took his hand. Ste hadn't even realised he'd made the journey across the kitchen.

"You're right, Steven, I lie, I steal, I do worse, but I've never made stuff up to get you into bed."

Ste pulled his hand back, "Oh you want examples, do you?" But Brendan just took his shoulders instead and turned him so his back was to the counter and he was facing Brendan head on. Ste wondered how he'd managed to spill flour everywhere yet not get a speck on his own clothes,

"Hey, I meant every word I said to you that day," he said, looking Ste straight in the eye.

"Yeah, course you did," Ste said, sarcastically.

"Yeah, I did!" Brendan repeated. He stared at Ste, who was determined not to fall for it again, whatever had nearly happened earlier that day. "I'm sorry I was a coward."

"Whatever," Ste replied, and turned back to the food before he could fall under this spell.

"Why did you let me help you Steven?" Brendan asked.

Ste snorted, "You call that helping?"

"Exactly," Brendan replied, "so why didn't you tell me to get lost?"

Ste didn't want this conversation. There had been a part of him that had expected Brendan to turn up and fuck him senseless all day, the same part that wanted it, the same part that wanted to surrender when Brendan had pushed him. But answering that question would stop it being just about sex. Answering that would make it real – would acknowledge that way he'd ignored everything when Brendan had needed him, ignored his own feelings at Rae's murderer escaping, ignored Doug's feelings at losing a friend after losing his girlfriend, it would have acknowledged his own jealousy and hurt when Brendan had kissed that bloke in front of him at the club, acknowledged all those feelings he'd hidden so carefully for over a year. And he had been right to hide them. He knew that.

He didn't answer. He just kept on working, slicing carefully at some fruit for the sweet parts of the meal. Brendan put a hand over his, took the knife from him and threw it away. Then he turned Ste to face him using one hand gently on his chin.

Their eyes met. There had been too many moments that day. Ste was no longer thinking with his brain. He hoped he was thinking with his dick, because thinking with his heart was really going to hurt in the morning.

Keeping one gentle hand on Ste's chin, Brendan closed the gap between their lips so slowly that by the time they'd actually met, Ste was almost pulsing with need. Brendan's soft breath, the tickle of the moustache, the intoxicating smell that Ste could only recognise as the older man's sheer masculinity were enough to drive him barmy at the best of times. Right now, it made the lips completely irresistible.

Ste returned the kiss like his life depended on it as Brendan put his arms on either side of him, trapping him comfortably between the taller man's body and the surface he'd been working at. Ste turned in the hold, bringing their fronts together and clasped his hands around Brendan's neck.

He felt Brendan's hands on his back. They were pulling at the apron, untying the strings and lifting it over his head. They broke the kiss to allow the material to pass, but rejoined the instant it was gone. Ste dug his fingers into Brendan's short hair, clinging so hard it probably hurt. Brendan didn't seem to care, his own hands were too busy pulling Ste's shirt from his trousers, exploring the smooth skin he'd uncovered in that new gap he'd created. Then one hand dipped below the waistline of the trousers. The feeling of that big warm hand on his arse shot waves of lust through Ste's body; he needed more.

His hands left Brendan's neck, and he was no longer even trying to think as they attacked the buttons of his shirt. He managed to get a lot undone before they were too annoying, and he pulled the whole thing over Brendan's head like a t-shirt, revealing that beautiful chest for the second time that day. The tattoo on his shoulder, the muscle, the hair. He couldn't keep his hands away from them now if he tried.

Brendan managed better with Ste's shirt, he succeeded in getting it off more conventionally, without breaking any buttons, or having to break the kiss again. Then his hands found Ste's belt, and suddenly seemed hesitant.

But Ste was beyond such sensible thought. He pushed Brendan's hands to his own buckle, then attacked Brendan's trousers with fervour. But taking them off seemed unnecessary, like waiting for ice when you were dying of thirst. They shoved them down to reveal everything they needed, and Ste twisted back round, one hand behind him pulling Brendan's groin towards him, the other bracing himself against the surface.

He wondered if he should be annoyed at Brendan's speedy locating of both condom and lube in his trouser pocket. He'd come here expecting this to happen. That should really piss Ste off. Except of course, so had Ste.

The lube was warm as Brendan's coated fingers found Ste's now quivering hole. He was going too slow again, and Ste put his hand on the wrist just to make it move. He didn't need preparing – he was already fit to burst with desire, but Brendan had always taken care of him at moments like this; made sure not to hurt him at this most important of times. It was minimal but it was enough. Brendan ripped open the condom, put it on, and then Ste felt Brendan's cock start to enter him.

It invaded him mercilessly, stretching him, pushing the breath from his body at the very sensation. He gasped, he groaned, he pulled Brendan in further with a hand stretched right back and grasping at Brendan's arse. He threw his head back onto Brendan's shoulder and felt the moustached lips on his neck. Brendan filled him like no one else could, then started moving.

It started controlled, Brendan's hands exploring the front of Ste's body, reaching for his cock, Ste clinging on to anything he could reach, but it escalated. It became something else – desperate, almost crazed, and nothing could enter Ste's consciousness except the feelings and the lust and the knot inside him ready to burst forth. It wasn't going to be long enough. It never could be long enough.

"Brendan… I'm gonna…"

And Brendan didn't need an end to that sentence. He pulled Ste's mouth back to his. The angle was awkward, but Ste held it, with one hand on Brendan's face, letting all the tension out into the kiss, and into Brendan's hand, feeling Brendan do the same behind him. They clung on to each other, in that position, not wanting that moment to end.

They both knew the come-down was on its way. They both knew it was going to end, and they had choices, impossible ones. But while they didn't move, that didn't need to happen. They held themselves still, joined as intimately as was possible, delaying the inevitable.

The knocking caused them both to turn. They couldn't see the door. Ste moved first.

"Don't…" Brendan protested in a whisper, and Ste stilled again. "Don't go back to him."

Don't go back to Doug? Let Brendan have power over him again? Let Brendan mess with his head, and hurt him, with no chance of escape now? That would be stupid, wouldn't it?

"Steven, I…"

"Brendan?"

The voice came from the door. Ste sort of recognised it but couldn't place it. Male, London or Essex accent. Brendan frowned at the sound.

"Brendan? Are you in there? Cheryl said this was where you were getting the food from. Brendan?"

"Just a minute, Walker, yeah?" Brendan called.

"What are you doing in there?"

Brendan growled, and Ste pulled out of his grip, reaching for his shirt and pulling up his trousers. Brendan did the same, sadness on his face.

Brendan had barely put his shirt on before he opened the door into the main shop. Ste called after him, he couldn't go out like that. People would know what had just happened.

"It's alright," Brendan said over his shoulder, "he's not going to tell Douglas. He doesn't care."

Ste heard him pull open the front door.

"What do you want?" the Irishman demanded simply.

"What's going on?" Walker asked,

"I'm cooking," Brendan answer, coldly, "obviously."

Ste stayed in the kitchen, though fighting to put his clothes on properly.

"With your shirt half undone?"

Brendan didn't reply, but Ste closed his eyes in embarrassment.

"Was there something you wanted, Walker, or could you just not stay away from me?"

"Yeah," replied Walker, casually, "We need you at the club. Some bloke's been giving Joel hassle."

Brendan sighed, "Give me a few minutes, yeah?"

"So you can finish… cooking?" said Walker, suggestively. Brendan shut the door on his face, and came back to Ste, watching him struggle for a few moments. "So, we've swapped roles have we?" he asked, sardonically.

"What?" Ste asked, trying to tie his apron and do up his buttons at the same time.

"Now I'm your dirty little secret. And you're the one in hiding."

Ste stared at the floor. It wasn't like that. This wasn't the same as how Brendan had behaved before. He wasn't hiding because he was a coward. He was hiding because this was wrong. And Brendan was hardly innocent.

"Are you gonna tell anyone?" he asked.

Brendan stared at him, like he didn't know what to say. Then snorted. "Right. Well, I'm going to sort out Joel. Call me when you know what you want."

"But…" Ste called after him. He still didn't know. Was Brendan going to destroy him and Doug now? Could Brendan do that to him?

Fuck! He'd shagged his violent ex behind his boyfriend's back! In the previously pristine kitchen of the business they owned together! And now he had to clean his own cum off the surfaces. And somehow rescue Joel's birthday meal.

And he was going to hell for being a terrible person.

And he still wanted to fuck Brendan Brady.

Fuck!

**Was going to have Walker interrupt before they got there, but thought you might start sending me hate mail. Hope you enjoyed, a please review!**


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